


I Just Wanna Taste It

by homosociallyyours



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Belly worship, Body Dysphoria, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy Kink, someone give this man a baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosociallyyours/pseuds/homosociallyyours
Summary: The idea of being pregnant sometimes consumes Harry. In his mind it's watermelon and sticky strawberry sweet, and he craves the feeling of his own round, firm belly warm under his hands on a summer evening.Inspired by Watermelon Sugar and Harry's over the top obsession with baby bumps.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 157





	I Just Wanna Taste It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HurdyGurdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurdyGurdy/gifts).

> I chatted this fic idea out with Jen when Watermelon Sugar dropped, but it took his Jingle Bell Ball appearance (and a potential reference to wanting someone's 8 month pregnant belly) to finally make it spill out of me in fic form. 
> 
> This is unbetaed but proofread (by me) so I assume there are mistakes I didn't catch. Hopefully not too many, though. 
> 
> Also apologies if I missed tagging for anything! Please let me know if you see something that I should've mentioned!

Harry leans forward, not caring when the sunlight hits his eyes making it a little hard for him to see. “Are you sure?” he asks, reaching out his hand slowly in spite of his desire to touch. 

Leslie nods, moving her own hands off of her belly in invitation, and Harry lays his palm over the top of her belly. He’s afraid with the first touch that he won’t want to stop, and it makes him catch his lip between his teeth, biting down to distract himself from how she feels underneath his hand. 

“It’s weird, right?” She looks up at him with a face that says she’s used to people saying something like that when they touch her, and Harry can’t stop his smile as he answers. 

“No, it’s not. It’s beautiful, actually. You’re six months now?” He dares to press a little harder, the firmness that greets him making his breath catch in his throat. 

“Seven and a half, actually. They think she’ll be big, though. That’s why I’m half the size of a whale.” She laughs at herself, rubbing the side of her belly absentmindedly, and Harry mirrors her action on the top of her belly, letting himself grin along with her. 

“You’re gorgeous, stop it. Glowy and pregnant, right?” 

She fixes him with a skeptical look, shaking her head. “You’re only saying that because you’ve never been pregnant. The glow is sweat, darling. Wish someone had told me not to be pregnant during the summer, it’s bloody awful.” 

Harry feels something pushing back against his hand and gasps, leaning even closer so he can keep his hand close to the skin. “She kicked!” He looks up at Leslie and sees that she’s holding back her laughter, and there’s a part of him that wants to pull his hand away. It’s overpowered by the part of him that needs to see if the baby will move again, though. 

Leslie takes his hand and shifts it to the side of her belly, pressing his fingers into her body more than he’d feel comfortable doing himself. She quietly tells him to wait, and after a moment he’s rewarded with a firmer kick into his hand. Leslie curses under her breath. 

“Does it really hurt?” Harry asks. He wants to feel the baby kick again, but can’t help feeling bad about it if it’s truly uncomfortable. 

“It doesn’t feel good, but she usually does acrobatics right about now. Might have a lie down for a bit if that’s alright?” 

Harry nods, jumping from his chair to help her up from hers. As he helps her settle into a lounge chair that’s positioned perfectly under an umbrella, she looks at him with a smile. 

“My own husband never does things like that,” she says, laying back with a sigh. “You must’ve been around a lot of pregnant women to be so thoughtful.” 

“Something like that,” Harry says with a shrug. He asks her if there’s anything he could get for her, and she asks for a strawberry lemonade, telling him it’s no rush. She’ll probably fall asleep in a few minutes anyway. 

The party has kept going on around them, and Harry is grateful when nobody calls him back over to the table, too wrapped up in their conversations to notice him walking back into the house. The kitchen is empty of people but filled with bowls of food that everyone was helping themselves to earlier, and Harry has to clear a little space to pull out the strawberries so he can remove their stems and blend them up with lemon and sugar before pouring it all over ice and giving it a stir with sparkling water. 

When he and Louis had been preparing everything for the party earlier, he’d been proud of his little mocktail concoction, a special treat “for our pregnant guests only.” There’s only one pregnant guest, but Harry figured that if he were pregnant, he’d want something special too. 

He stops chopping, laying down his knife to rest one hand on his belly. It’s nothing like Leslie’s, neither firm nor round, and so for a moment he tries breathing in to expand it, quickly huffing out the air when it still feels wrong. He flexes his abdominal muscles for a moment, seeing if that at least reminds him of the way it felt even if it wouldn’t look right. Nothing works, though. He relaxes and goes back to making the drink. 

When it’s all blended up, he gets down two glasses, pouring a bit into each, and adds the finishing touches to only one of them before bringing it up to his mouth to take a sip. He thinks about how it’s only for pregnant guests as he swallows, the strawberry sweet on his tongue. He adds another squeeze of lemon and takes another sip. 

Outside, a few of the guests are up, kicking a football around. Leslie is still in her lounge chair, head lolling to one side in sleep. Harry doesn’t feel ready to join them yet, so he looks around for something else to do. 

He consolidates the food, leaving some of it out but packing away the things that he doesn’t think people will return to, and loads the empty serving bowls and platters into the dishwasher. It only takes him ten minutes though, and he finds he’s still not ready to go back out. So he does a little more: he wipes down the counters, rinses out the sink. He considers sweeping the floor but then realizes how odd it would seem if someone happened to find him like that-- missing his own party to sweep his kitchen. 

Grasping for something else to do, he notices the watermelon that Lottie brought. It’s not huge, but it feels nice, heavy for its size and with a pale golden spot on one side that he remembers hearing means it should be sweet. He picks it up to take it back to the counter to cut it and stops. 

It’s the wrong size, probably. And the shape isn’t quite right if he thinks about it too hard. The thing is too firm as well, with nothing like the gentle give that Leslie’s belly had. He checks outside; nothing has changed. 

With a single inhale, he does it. He lifts his shirt and tucks the watermelon underneath it, holding its weight in his palm as he positions it properly. It doesn’t even take much maneuvering for it to remind Harry of a proper baby bump. He lets his free hand drift to the top of it, stroking it softly. 

Of course it’s not real. It’s not exactly right. But at the moment, it’s enough. Harry closes his eyes and pictures himself with a belly that looks like this one but that feels right under his hand. He imagines the baby kicking for the first time as he’s sat outside with Louis, sweat rolling from his neck and down between his breasts, leaving wetness to collect just above his belly. He pictures himself resting a drink on the swell of his own body, strawberry lemonade in a condensation covered glass. 

He’s still leaned against the counter and lost in a reverie when the door opens behind him and he freezes, hands wrapped protectively around the bump under his shirt. 

“There ya are, baby, ‘ve been looking for y--” Louis stops short the moment he catches Harry’s body language-- the way he’s tensed up and turned away. “What’s the matter, love?” He steps closer, but Harry can hear his hesitation. Sometimes Harry gets moody, and Louis has learned after all these years that it’s better to leave him to it, let him have his sad boy hours before trying to cheer him up. 

He must notice that Harry’s blushing, though, because suddenly he’s there, his hand flat on Harry’s mid-back as he pulls up next to him. 

“S’alright, love,” he says, resting his hand on Harry’s at the top of his watermelon baby bump. “Wanna talk about it?” 

Harry shakes his head. He  _ does _ want to talk about it, really, but it doesn’t feel like something he can handle at this moment. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’s talked about wanting a baby. Louis knows this. Louis knows him. 

“You’d be so pretty like that,” Louis says as he rubs circles over Harry’s round belly. “You’re already so gorgeous, but with a baby? You’d open up like a sunflower.” 

“I want to,” Harry mumbles. He can’t say anything more. 

Louis leans in and kisses Harry’s cheek, then his shoulder. And then he starts to sink to his knees, kissing the top of Harry’s belly once before he’s all the way down and kneeling at Harry’s feet. He kisses the base of the belly right by Harry’s fingertips, and it sends a wave of warmth tingling up inside of Harry, making him tip forward just a little before rocking back onto his heels. 

“You’d be so sweet. Bet you’d taste like a watermelon. So lovely and round and heavy. Summer fruit.” Louis sucks at Harry’s fingertip, and Harry closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the fantasy of being massively pregnant. Louis would disappear behind the swell of Harry’s stomach, be a phantom mouth sucking him tenderly, and he’d also want to lie with his head on Harry’s belly, hair soft and messy from having Harry’s hands in it as he talked with their baby or just listened to any sounds he could hear from inside. 

“We can, baby. We can do it. I know it’s not what we planned but,” Louis pushes his face into Harry’s hip and nips at the flesh through the worn linen shorts Harry’s wearing. He makes a noise like a moan as he lays his hand over Harry’s. “There’s no harm in trying. Might not take right away.” 

Harry takes the hand he’s had resting atop his belly and slides it down to brush against Louis’ face, to draw him out and back up. Louis looks up at him but stays on his knees, his eyes as blue as the cloudless summer skies. They’re not always so bright, and it feels like a sign. 

“You want to?” 

Louis nods emphatically, finally standing up. His hand joins Harry’s to hold the watermelon in place. “Give you a baby? Yeah, won’t be a problem for me,” he teases, letting Harry be the one to close the distance between them with a kiss. It’s sweet, but with a filthy edge, and Harry wonders about how long he’ll need to be off birth control to regain maximum fertility. Not that they’ll need to wait that long to start ‘trying’ as it were. 

Harry leaves the room while Louis cuts up the watermelon to take out to the party. When he returns, Louis feeds him a slice, the juice dripping down his chin as he sucks on the tender flesh of the fruit. He was right when he guessed that it would be sweet; it’s the best melon he’s had all summer. 

As he lies in bed that night, Louis’ hands covering his belly protectively, he lets his mind wander to thoughts of himself in the future, pregnant and smiling into the sunshine. The whole thing tastes like strawberries. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Fic post coming soon, maybe. 
> 
> Also there's a chance that this fic will get a sequel eventually in the form of an mpreg fic that I actually started writing back in May. Cross your fingers and/or send me encouragement on tumblr. 
> 
> xoxo


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